Not the Magic We Grew Up On
by Adara Darville
Summary: A short story about one of the many muggles Voldemort killed  which I gave names . What I think would go through their mind, and what they would say in the event of their death. T for obvious O.C character death.


**Just a story about what I think one of the many muggles killed by Voldemort would have thought and said. I wrote it this way because Voldemort seems like someone who would mess with the people he killed.**

_**Not the Magic We Grew Up On**_

My friends and I sat around my room. We were in a cottage, in the middle of nowhere for the summer, just to get away from it all. Our parents had come with us (of course) because we were too young to spend an entire summer alone in a cottage, but for the most part we were left alone. My name is Jessie, and I'm sixteen. One key thing about my friends and I, is that we've always believed in magic. Which brings us to what we were doing now, we currently had all of our siblings sitting around my bed, and we were reading aloud from this incredibly curious book I found lying in the middle of the field behind our cottage. It was titled _The Tales of Beedle and the Bard_.

It was such a sweet book, and we had just finished the first tale in it. The whole book centered around magic, it was so beautiful. And it had so many hidden messages. Right as we were about to begin the second tale, we heard screams coming from the living room. My friend, Chelsea, ran out of the room. "Mum, is everything all…" Her voice cut off as she began screaming as well. Her mum ran in, in a frenzy screaming her lungs out. "JESSIE RUN, GO OUT TH."

Before she could finish a flash of light came out of a stick that a rather thick man was holding, and she fell to the ground screaming again. I looked at her eyes, which were so filled with pain, as the man raised his wand again and spoke, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The light left her eyes, her brilliant blue eyes, and her body went limp. The kids started running and screaming, trying to find the best way out as the man picked them off one by one. I stood still, I couldn't move, I just stood there watching the children I grew up with die, as I clutched that silly magic book in my hand. It was obvious what this man was using to kill off my family and friends, and it was nothing close to what I read in this book. What happened to the magic I'd read about in THIS book, the magic in the movies I watched when I was a child? WHAT IS THIS, THIS EVIL? What could this man be using to do such cruel things? And to children, no younger than ten years old? What exactly was I bearing witness to at this moment?

The man looked at me, and I let in a huge gulp as his eyes locked on mine. There would be no arguing for my life with him, for there was no kindness in those eyes. With shaky hands, I put my arms across my chest, unknowingly putting the book against my heart. If I was to die, I planned to die with dignity. If not for me, but for the family he'd just killed. The man glanced at it, and his face showed only confusion, but the cruelty never left his eyes. I was looking at a monster, a monster who was going to kill me. "You? Where did you get that book?" He asked, pointing his death stick at me. "Well," He yelled, anger seeping through the calm voice he was trying to use. "Your Lord! Your presence is required. The Muggle here has a book from the magic world!"

A man, with a terrifying presence (and on a more funny side, no nose) came in, cape sweeping behind him. His eyes locked on the book too, and he lifted his own stick, "Crucio." The word came out in one breathe, and a smile played across his lips. Pain raged through my body, like nothing I'd ever felt before. Millions of tiny, sharp pricks spread across my arms, legs, torso, everywhere. And out of the corner of my eye, as I lay on the ground writhing, I saw my worst fear. It was a silly fear, but it scared me none the less. Hundreds of large, black spiders crawled across the floor towards me. Just as they were about to crawl on top of me, the pain lifted, and they disappeared. "Tell me, you worthless muggle, where did you get that book."

I gasped for breathe, as I replied, if only to keep him from bringing the pain back. "I found it, sir," I said through tears as I sat up and looked at the lifeless bodies that littered my bedroom floor. "It was in a field, and I thought it looked interesting. But why, why are you doing this? What does this damned book mean to you?"

My voice rose and I attempted to stand, to no avail, as he raised that stupid stick at me again. "Careful, insolent child, or I will bring back that pain. I can kill you slowly, or I can make it quick. And while normal I'd do the first, but I don't have that much time. So you'd best speak to me with respect, lest I have to waste more of my time on you!"

My eyes filled with tears again, as I slowly nodded. "Yes sir." All the fight had left me. My family was dead, along with my best friends. What did I have to live for? "May I sit in a chair?" I asked, hoping I could go to my death more comfortably.

"Very well," He said as he smiled cruelly. "Tell me your name."

"Jessie."

"Ah," He laughed. "You muggles come up with the most embarrassing names for your children," He spat out as looked at me with nothing but contempt. "Nothing like my name. Voldemort. I am the very definition of fear, in a world you could never be familiar with. I am so feared, people can't even say it. I'm referred to instead as, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He laughed again, as he stared at the tears that dripped down my cheeks. "Not very strong are you, muggle. Well, would you like to know why you are to die? Why those filthy things down the hall you call 'family' have already died?" Male cheers, and the clinking of glasses, rang from the room where my parents bodies now lie, prompting me to cry even more.

"Yes, please." I said, my body numbing even more with each passing second.

"There's the respect I asked for," He smiled cruelly as he rolled the stick between his to hands. "Well, you see, you're what my world call muggles. And I don't like muggles. You're filthy creatures who should never have been allowed on this earth. You're inferior to us, we who are wizards. Even those wizards, who come from muggles, one side or both, are inferior. Filthy mud bloods. And it is my personal opinion, that you should all be dead. But one little boy stood in my way, long ago, when I was at the height of my goal. One little boy, who would not die. But I'm back, and I'll kill him now. Then, the world will be rid of you filthy creatures. So…any last words?" He laughed, voice ringing across the room.

I looked around at the bodies, at the children I loved so dear, and somehow I found the courage to speak. These, my last words, would be spoken for them, and any other who had suffered this terrible man's wrath. His insanity. "You say that we are inferior, yet it seems to me like you fear us more than you'll admit. You remind me of the racism that people of a different color experienced long ago and still experience today. They were enslaved before, and they are free now, and while they still struggle with racism. They are still _free. _We muggles that you aim to put into extinction will soon be free of your wrath. Whoever this boy is that you plan to kill, I wish him luck, for he will need it. But you will not succeed in your plans. You will fail, for while you are strong, you are weaker than anyone I have met." I spat at his feet and added for good measure, "You are the disgusting creature, and you are the inferior one. I welcome death, as you will soon welcome yours."

As I sat back down, he raised his wand again, rage filling his eyes, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

And all the lights in the cottage went out.


End file.
